


The Currency of Love

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: Sam flinched when he heard a gun go off, creeping through the undergrowth as the sound of booted feet neared where Sam was hiding. The sound of gnarling teeth not far behind.





	The Currency of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Written for OhSam's [Hurt v Comfort Meme](https://ohsam.livejournal.com/938193.html) the original prompter being junkerin who said, “The first time Sam Winchester killed a monster was to save his brother...”

The Currency of Love

Sam remained motionless, crouched in the shadows unseen. He was supposed to be in the Impala, reading a book or studying, doing something innocuous, safe while his father and brother tracked the werewolf or wolves. But he couldn’t just sit it out. He had a pit in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. Sure, he worried, every time John went out on a hunt, more when he took Dean along. He was so scared they wouldn’t come back.

This was different. He’d had nightmares about this, for months, the same wooded area, the full moon, both his father and brother fighting something half man and half animal. He’d tried to warn John there was more than one, but how could he press the issue without telling his father, he had the shining, dreams that came true? 

He could still hear Dean’s screams as Sam jolted awake the sweat beading his forehead and upper lip.

He’d told John that at fourteen he was old enough to hunt, and John had agreed, but mostly that meant Sam researching until the early hours while his father and brother fought one blood-thirsty creature after another. 

Sam flinched when he heard a gun go off, creeping through the undergrowth as the sound of booted feet neared where Sam was hiding. The sound of gnarling teeth not far behind. 

Sam held his breath as Dean broke through into the clearing, the werewolf closing in on him, and John nowhere to be seen. He needed to breathe out, but he was afraid that the slightest sound would give him away as Dean turned around to face the beast, it knocking Dean’s gun from his hand as Dean aimed to shoot. 

“Oh God,” Sam whimpered forcing a hand over his mouth in the hope he hadn’t been heard. The werewolf lifted his head, sniffed the air as Sam almost curled in on himself as the wolf turned his attention back to Dean.

It was just like his dream only this time Sam refused to watch helpless to aid his big brother. He spotted Dean’s gun not far from where he hid, a couple of feet separating him from the thing that was bearing down on Dean. He crawled out from the protection of the shrubbery, moving quietly, stealthily as he reached for Dean’s gun, the wolf’s arm raised, long claws ready to inflict harm as Sam lifted the gun, hands shaking, scared to death he’d miss and hit Dean, but there was no time as the wolf’s arm whooshed through the air. The loud bang drew everyone’s attention, including John’s as he rushed out of the woods coming to a standstill at the scene unfolding in front of him. The gun slipping from Sam’s hand, he dropped to his knees, the wolf falling forward on top of Dean, its feature's morphing into that of a man. 

“Dean?” John shouted, running over to where Dean was struggling to get out from underneath what was now a human being, a man. 

“I’m good,” Dean grunted when John began to search him for wounds. “It didn’t bite me, Sam… oh God Sam,” Dean said scrambling over to where Sam was knelt, his head in his hands. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered, dropping to his knees and prying Sam’s hands from his face. 

“Is he okay?” John asked rushing over to where his two sons knelt. 

“I think he’s in shock,” Dean said as Sam began to rock back and forth. “Dad if he hadn’t…”

“Don’t,” John said holding up a hand to stop Dean. “Just don’t.”

“He’s shaking,” Dean said taking off his bloodstained jacket and wrapping it around Sam’s shoulders. 

“Here,” John said, handing Dean the keys to the Impala. “Take him home, I’ll finish up and make my own way back.”

“Come on,” Dean urged getting to his feet and coaxing Sam to his, one arm around his brother’s shoulders as he half walked; half carried him to where the Impala was parked. He held Sam upright, propped against the body of the car as he unlocked it and eased Sam into the passenger seat. “I’ve got you,” Dean whispered scared at his brother’s silence. “I’m gonna take care of you,” Dean promised as he walked around the car and sat down in the driver’s seat, reaching out and squeezing Sam’s thigh before gunning the engine. 

Dean worried his bottom lip as he took his eyes off the road to check on Sam, who was slumped in his seat, chin on his chest, as a single tear marked a track down his cheek. They were still a few miles from the motel, Dean pressed his foot on the gas, taking one hand from the steering wheel and resting it on Sam’s knee. “We’re almost there Buddy, just hang in there.”

Dean was surprised the tires didn’t screech as he sped into the motel’s parking lot, spinning the steering wheel until he came to a stop outside their room. He climbed out of the car and walked over to room seven, putting the key in the door and swinging it open before returning to Sam, who hadn’t moved. 

“A little help here,” Dean coaxed both grateful and relieved when Sam took notice of his words and swung his legs free of the car, Dean helping to pull Sam the rest of the way. He stumbled as Sam’s legs almost buckled, taking Sam’s dead weight as he steered him towards the bed. 

“Come on talk to me,” Dean almost begged as he took his dirty jacket from Sam and began to undress him. He expected some protest as he removed Sam’s shirt and went to work on the buttons on Sam’s jeans, but Sam remained still and silent, lifting each leg in turn as Dean pulled off Sam’s boots and dragged his pants down and off. 

Dean took a deep breath as Sam began to shiver once more, Dean sure it wasn’t because of the cold even though Sam was down to his boxer shorts. He pulled the blanket from the bed and eased Sam down onto the mattress, pulling the blanket back up and over Sam, tucking it in under his little brother’s chin.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Dean promised as he crouched down beside the bed, stroking Sam’s hair away from his forehead, and caressing his cheek. “I’m right here Sammy.”

Dean was somewhat reassured when Sam pressed closer rubbing his cheek against Dean’s palm the tears he shed coating Dean’s fingers. Dean remained where he was even though his calf muscles ached from being hunched down. He noticed the hand that caressed his brother’s cheek was stained red with blood, as was his shirt and he stank like wet dog, but he remained still, stroking Sam’s hair and face until he fell asleep. He took a minute to just watch Sam, waiting until he was sure he was comfortable before checking the door was unlocked for John and heading toward the bathroom and a hot shower. 

Dean noticed the parts of his shirt that were shredded, realising how close he’d come to death. He checked his naked body, knowing he hadn’t been injured but needed to make sure the blood that stained his body belonged to the werewolf and not himself. He’d come so close. If Sam hadn’t been there…

Dean pulled himself from his concerns when he heard a loud sob, scrambling to turn off the shower and grab a towel when he saw Sam sitting on the cold floor, his knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them as he rocked back and forth once more. 

“Hey,” Dean said his voice gentle and laden with concern. “Come on, Buddy,” Dean urged, pulling Sam to his feet and half carrying him back to the bed, and forcing him to sit, Dean kneeling between Sam’s thighs. “Talk to me, Sammy.”

“I killed a man,” Sam whispered, lifting his hand to scrub at his eyes.

“You killed a monster,” Dean corrected.

“You saw him,” Sam said quietly. “After I shot him. That wasn’t a monster Dean that was a man.”

“Sam if you hadn’t,” Dean began, cupping Sam’s cheeks with both hands. “If you hadn’t I’d be dead.” 

“Dean I was so scared,” Sam said letting out an uncontrollable sob. 

“Hey now,” Dean murmured resting his forehead against Sam’s. “I’m right here.”

“Dean?” Sam stuttered, the floodgates opening. It seemed once Sam let free his emotions, the fear of losing his brother, the burden of taking a life, he just couldn’t stop.

Dean was at a loss, a physical injury he could heal, suture a wound, splint a broken bone until they could get to a hospital, clean cuts and grazes so to prevent infection. But this…

“Please, Sam,” Dean whispered pressing a kiss to his brother’s temple, his cheek, tasting the salt of Sam’s tears, Dean’s fingers tangling in Sam’s hair as he held him tighter. “You did the right thing,” Dean continued trying in vain to comfort Sam, desperate to assuage his brother’s guilt. “Look at me,” Dean urged. “Look at me Sammy.”

Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes awash with tears. Dean’s hands still curved around Sam’s face, fingers sliding up into Sam’s hair, as he fought to make things better for Sam. To take away his pain as Sam stared at him his eyes begging for forgiveness. 

“Tell me, what can I do?” Dean asked, his thumb stroking Sam’s cheek, brushing away a tear. “Anything, just tell me.”

“Someone’s father, son, or brother won’t be coming home tonight because of me,” Sam whispered. “I did that, Dean it was me,” Sam continued his voice becoming louder. 

“Stop it,” Dean demanded needing to find a way to silence his brother, stop him from shouldering blame where there wasn’t any. If it hadn’t been for his actions, his bravery Dean wouldn’t be here and that alone scared the crap out of him. The enormity of it. He looked down at Sam’s grief stricken face, Sam pleading, begging for something, some kind of solace, Dean lowering his head, stealing the last inch of space that separated them and kissed his brother.

He hadn’t planned it. He just needed Sam to stop beating himself up to get him to see he’d done a good thing. A brave thing. He’d saved Dean’s life. 

“Don’t cry, Sammy,” Dean said, the words barely audible as he got to his feet, forcing Sam backward onto the bed and following him down coming to rest between Sam’s thighs the towel working its way loose. It wasn’t lust or sexual desire, though Dean had sometimes wondered but this was different. He wanted to comfort Sam, to hold and keep him close. “I’ve got you little brother,” Dean said as he kissed Sam’s tears away. “I’ve got you.” 

Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, alarm bells were going off, but he didn’t care even if what he was doing violated all social norms. Who cares if what he was doing was fifty shades of fucked up. Their whole lives were fucked up, they were never going to be the Brady bunch and if Sam needed this then Dean wasn’t going to deny him. 

There was no hunger beneath Dean’s caress, no heat just a deep-rooted love and an all-encompassing need to take care for his brother he could feel his cock hardening and pushed all selfish needs aside, and just cradled Sam in his arms until the tears stopped. No doubt there’d be recriminations later, but right now Dean didn’t care about anything but Sam. 

“You okay?” Dean asked as he pushed himself up taking his weight on hands seconds before getting up from the bed and wrapping the towel around his hips once more. He stared down at Sam, ignoring the reaction his body was having in proximity to his brother. He didn’t know what to expect, anger maybe, revulsion that Dean had taken advantage of Sam’s moment of weakness to satisfy his own perverted need. What he saw was the makings of a smile, ever so slight. Not enough to tempt out Sam’s dimples but enough to soothe Dean’s battered soul. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Dean said, helping to pull Sam upright, ignoring the way the towel chafed against his hardened cock, pulling back the blanket as Sam found his feet. 

“Stay,” Sam whispered a trace of sadness in his voice. 

“Sam, I,” Dean began. “Dad will be back anytime.” 

“So, we share a bed all the time, what’s so different?” 

Dean caught his breath. Sam was right, they did share a bed, had done for years, but that was before Dean had kissed Sam, before Sam kissed him back. It was almost chaste, innocent but it opened up a whole world of possibilities. 

“I need you,” Sam said, swaying slightly on his feet, still a little disorientated as Dean caught him and lowered him back onto the bed.

“Okay, Sammy, okay.” 

Dean took a deep breath as Sam settled in the bed, taking a moment to rummage in his backpack for a clean pair of boxer shorts before returning to the bed and his brother. He remembered his first kill, he had been sick to his stomach as the banshee writhed and fought to free herself from the blade embedded in her chest, her final wail petering out to a shriek of disbelief as Dean twisted the knife, and ended her existence. He’d never felt so alone, and scared at the same time, learning that he had the power of life or death in his hands. It was all too much for a fifteen year old to take in. How he’d wished for someone to hold him close like he did Sam, but he’d plastered a smile on his face when John handed him a beer and slapped him on the back for a job well done. 

But that was then, and he was older and wise beyond his tender eighteen years. Now he could be there for Sam and not leave him alone to cry into his pillow, fist pressed tight to his mouth as Dean had, terrified John would hear him and tell him to grow up and be man, a Winchester.

Sam turned on his side as Dean climbed into bed, matching his brother as he too turned on his side, his breath hot against the back of Sam’s neck, his arm snaking around Sam’s hip, fingers splayed across his stomach as Dean pulled him in, Sam’s back plastered to Dean’s chest.

“Hush now,” Dean whispered, his hand making circular movements on Sam’s stomach, fingers skirting through Sam’s meagre pubic hair, as Sam’s tears became quiet little snuffles and the occasional hiccup. 

Dean remained where he was even after Sam had fallen to sleep, he was tired, his body and mind fatigued. He had every intention of moving, but his body betrayed him, pressing closer to Sam, holding him tight as the breath from Sam’s body left him in soft, gentle puffs of air. 

The sound of the door opening dragged Dean from his light slumber, John’s heavy booted feet striding toward the bed as Dean scrambled to free himself of Sam, whose pitiful whine echoed around the room as the cold replaced the heat of Dean’s body.

“Dean,” Sam cried out, fingers searching and finding Dean’s hand, and attempting to drag Dean back. 

“It’s okay,” John said, much to Dean’s surprise. “He needs you.”

Dean gave in to his brother’s demand, squeezing Sam’s hand until Sam blew out a long breath before settling, his breathing returning to normal as Dean recaptured their positon, Sam pushing back instinctively until he was plastered to Dean’s chest.

Dean remained where he was, eyes closed as he heard John rummaging around, setting a line of salt at the door before stripping himself free of his clothes. Dean heard the mattress springs give under John’s weight, Dean relaxing for the first time that day. 

“Night Dean,” John said quietly. 

“Night,” Dean answered, Sam shuddering as Dean’s breath prickled the back of his neck, releasing a soft almost silent moan that only Dean could hear. 

“Take care of him,” John said.

“Always,” Dean replied his words breaching the darkness as John reached over and turned out the light.


End file.
